Boyhood, by Leo Tolstoy

IX. Continuation of Karl’s Narrative

“Zat was a terrible time, Nicolinka,” continued Karl Ivanitch, “ze time of Napoleon. He vanted to conquer Germany,
ant we protected our Vaterland to ze last trop of plot. Me vere at Ulm, me vere at Austerlitz, me vere at Wagram.”

“Did you really fight?” I asked with a gaze of astonishment “Did you really kill anybody?”

“At Wagram, Napoleon cut us open, ant surrountet us in such a way as zere vas no helping. Sree days hat we no
provisions, ant stoot in ze vater op to ze knees. Ze evil Napoleon neiser let us go loose nor catchet us.

“On ze fours day zey took us prisoners — zank Got! ant sent us to one fortress. Upon me vas one blue trousers,
uniforms of very goot clos, fifteen of Thalers, ant one silver clock which my Vater hat given me, Ze Frans Soldaten
took from me everysing. For my happiness zere vas sree tucats on me which my Mamma hat sewn in my shirt of flannel.
Nopoty fount zem.

“I liket not long to stay in ze fortresses, ant resoluted to ron away. Von day, von pig holitay, says I to the
sergeant which hat to look after us, ‘Mister Sergeant, to-day is a pig holitay, ant me vants to celeprate it. Pring
here, if you please, two pottle Mateira, ant we shall trink zem wis each oser.’ Ant ze sergeant says, ‘Goot!’ Ven ze
sergeant pring ze Mateira ant we trink it out to ze last trop, I taket his hant ant says, ‘Mister Sergeant, perhaps you
have still one Vater and one Mutter?’ He says, ‘So I have, Mister Mayer.’ ‘My Vater ant Mutter not seen me eight year,’
I goes on to him, ‘ant zey know not if I am yet alive or if my bones be reposing in ze grave. Oh, Mister Sergeant, I
have two tucats which is in my shirt of flannel. Take zem, ant let me loose! You will pe my penefactor, ant my Mutter
will be praying for you all her life to ze Almighty Got!’

“Ze sergeant emptiet his glass of Mateira, ant says, ‘Mister Mayer, I loaf and pity you very much, pot you is one
prisoner, ant I one soldat.’ So I take his hant ant says, ‘Mister Sergeant!’

“Ant ze sergeant says, ‘You is one poor man, ant I will not take your money, pot I will help you. Ven I go to sleep,
puy one pail of pranty for ze Soldaten, ant zey will sleep. Me will not look after you.’ Sis was one goot man. I puyet
ze pail of pranty, ant ven ze Soldaten was trunken me tresset in one olt coat, ant gang in silence out of ze doon.

“I go to ze wall, ant will leap down, pot zere is vater pelow, ant I will not spoil my last tressing, so I go to ze
gate.

“‘You tell me ontruse, young man,’ says he. ‘Ze roat is kvite dry now.’ I was silent. ‘Tell me ze whole truse,’ goes
on ze goot man —‘who you are, ant vere you go to? I like your face, ant ven you is one honest man, so I will help you.’
Ant I tell all.

“‘Goot, young man!’ he says. ‘Come to my manufactory of rope, ant I will give you work ant tress ant money, ant you
can live wis os.’ I says, ‘Goot!’

“I go to ze manufactory of rope, ant ze goot man says to his voman, ‘Here is one yong man who defented his
Vaterland, ant ron away from prisons. He has not house nor tresses nor preat. He will live wis os. Give him clean
linen, ant norish him.’

“I livet one ant a half year in ze manufactory of rope, ant my lantlort loaft me so much zat he would not let me
loose. Ant I felt very goot.

“I were zen handsome man — yong, of pig stature, with blue eyes and romische nose — ant Missis L— (I like not to say
her name — she was ze voman of my lantlort) was yong ant handsome laty. Ant she fell in loaf wis me.”

Here Karl Ivanitch made a long pause, lowered his kindly blue eyes, shook his head quietly, and smiled as people
always do under the influence of a pleasing recollection.

“Yes,” he resumed as he leant back in his arm-chair and adjusted his dressing-gown, “I have experiencet many sings
in my life, pot zere is my witness,”— here he pointed to an image of the Saviour, embroidered on wool, which was
hanging over his bed —“zat nopoty in ze worlt can say zat Karl Ivanitch has been one dishonest man, I would not repay
black ingratitude for ze goot which Mister L— dit me, ant I resoluted to ron away. So in ze evening, ven all were
asleep, I writet one letter to my lantlort, ant laid it on ze table in his room. Zen I taket my tresses, tree Thaler of
money, ant go mysteriously into ze street. Nopoty have seen me, ant I go on ze roat.”